You Is Just Another Synonym
by schnook
Summary: Kyouya Ootori has a mission. Jane Walters is praying to all kinds of midday television it has nothing to do with her. But apparently, Oprah has better things to do. Kyouya/OC. Slightly AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: 'You' Is Just Another Synonym**

**Show: OHSHC (though it's slightly AU)**

**Summary: Kyouya Ootori has a mission. Jane Walters is praying to all kinds of midday television it has nothing to do with her. Kyouya/OC. Slightly AU. **

**-x-x-x-**

"He's downstairs," Fernand informed me, hands clamped down to his sides as he bowed his head ever so slightly. For a split second he's the image of a penguin. A handsomely dignified penguin - with his sharp black suit and slicked back grey hair - but a penguin, nonetheless.

I glanced up idly from my book, not needing to ask who _'he'_ is. The title itself bore an oppressive nature; a sudden onslaught of morbidness and politely suppressed anger over tea and biscuits. Pretty impressive, considering it is only a two-letter word.

I nod distractedly to Fernand, my butler, who stands unsure of himself in the doorway of my study. He shifts his weight from left to right.

"I know."

Fernand sighs. It's deep and it's low and it's wistful. He hesitates. Opens his mouth, then shuts it again. More hesitation. Seconds tick by.

"Perhaps you should-" he begins doubtfully.

"Go down to meet him?" I finish even more doubtfully, pretending to read my book, seemingly absorbed. But the trepidation is already settling down, and making itself rather comfortable, at that. "I'm sure five minutes won't kill him."

He isn't fooled by the bravado, the good man. An encouraging smile is sent my way. "If you like, I could stay in the background for moral support."

Now it's my turn to sigh. Reluctantly, I close _Sons and Lovers_ and face the man who checked in on me as a child after my parents planted a goodnight kiss on my forehead, making sure they had forgotten nothing. Was I warm enough? Did I want something read? Had I had enough to drink? Then he would shuffle forward, planting his own goodnight kiss, the ends of his moustache tickling my cheek. I return the smile, not needing to fake the warmth that easily seeps through.

"Thank you, Fernand."

He appraises me for a small moment. Sometimes I wonder what he sees when he does that. "You haven't forgiven him," he finally says. It isn't a question.

My head shakes regretfully. I'm ashamed to admit it to him. "No," my voice is softer, more forlorn than I intended it to be, "I haven't."

He is agitated. His eyes are drawn over his shoulder, where no doubt, somewhere below, _he_ is waiting impatiently. Perhaps scowling. No, _probably_ scowling.

The kind, brown eyes return to me, beseeching. "One chance is all it takes, Jane." There is dull pain in his voice. Perhaps I have caused it, by my own innate stubbornness.

I understand what he is trying to say, and instinctively, I shy away from it. One chance? "Sir, I gave him plenty of chances, more than he even deserved, I believe."

"You can't undo the past, Jane, but the future is still within your means."

He is referring to what I believe he is referring to. The memory I had been trying to repress all along instantly springs to the surface, and with it my good temper vanishes. I try to push the memory down beneath me. No luck. One year ago. My father's office. Newly furnished and smelling of wood polish and ink. Mahogany. Everything is mahogany. That is, with the exception of Kyouya Ootori, who remains in my mind a distinct aura of grey.

We stand side by side, with an acceptable distance between us. I am eager. He is apathetic. All in all, nothing is out of the ordinary.

"Well children," my father begins, jovial and good natured as he addresses us. Kyouya flinches slightly at the term 'children,' but otherwise continues to keep his politely disinterested face towards father. "I must admit that you, Kyouya, have one of the most brilliant business minds I've come across. The sheer talent astounds me. Why your father hasn't scooped you up and used you to the full yet is beyond me."

Kyouya smiles tersely at the compliments, but otherwise stares blankly till father has no choice but to move on. So very surprising.

He turns to me, and smiles genuinely. I can't stop the smile that emerges in return. "And you, Jane, well, who would have been able to say last year that you would improve so quickly? This sudden burst of natural flair seems out of the blue, but is by no means unwelcome. I'm very proud, darling."

I fight down the small blush that threatens to take hold of me. "Well, er, that's very kind of you, sir."

He chuckles lightly. "Which is why I've decided to include you in Kyouya and I's latest business endeavour. We intend to begin negotiations with _El Grandsoire International_ by tomorrow week."

My embarrassed smile blows up into a full grin before I can contain it. "Really?" I struggle to beat down my obvious enthusiasm. "I mean, uh, thank you. I'd be honoured." I don't stop grinning. Finally, finally the chance I've been waiting for - the tutoring, the endless hours spent studying when I should have otherwise been sleeping, the endless reports, the tedious meetings. Freedom is so close it's almost tangible. Nothing could swipe off the grin that seems permanently plastered to my face.

"With all due respect, I must object to this, sir."

_His_ cool, smooth voice cuts through the air like a knife.

Well, nothing but Kyouya Ootori.

"What?I" I exclaim at the same time as my father's, "oh?"

Kyouya turns slowly to look me in the eye loftily, somehow still managing to look bored even when conversing. "I'm sure your daughter has improved remarkably, and I wish her well for it, but I don't believe she is experienced enough to embark on this particular endeavour. I would prefer for her to be discounted from the negotiations. From any part of the business dealings, for that matter."

I turn to my father, expecting him to defend his original decision only to find a contemplative look stretched across his broad face.

"Yes," he murmurs, half to himself, half to Kyouya, "yes. Perhaps you are right. Jane is awful young. Yes..."

"No!" I cry, praying my protest won't fall on deaf ears, "I'm every bit as capable as he is!"

Kyouya sighs irritably, shoving his condescending face in my general direction. "It's not a competition," he explains slowly as if rebuking a child, "it's merely a case of your being incapable of handling this deal with us. Besides, dealings with corporations like _El_ _Grandsoire_ can be dangerous if you're not careful. They're notorious for rash action if someone should get on their bad side."

"I'm aware of that," I snap at him, "and how can you know I'm incapable without letting my _try_, may I ask?" Fuming, I turn my body away from him, unable to stand his unrestrained arrogance.

"Jane," my father intercedes gently, laying a tentative hand on my arm, worry furrowing his greying brow. "Kyouya makes a valid point. I myself would not partake in these dealings if it were not necessary. I was foolish to think you would be guaranteed safety. To focus on finishing your studies must be the wise thing to do here. Perhaps you do need more time. You are but eighteen."

"Exactly. Three years older than when he," I jabbed my thumb towards Kyouya, who only frowned at the gesture, "went abroad on his first official business. How can he be old enough at fifteen and not I at eighteen?"

Kyouya answered for me without missing a beat. "It's obvious. My own talent was far more developed than your own even at fifteen." To my fury, he had the audacity to tack on, "no offence" at the end of the explanation, sending barely a lazy glance my way.

"Your ego is unbelievable," I gritted out between clenched teeth, "for someone who has to work with a neighbouring company because his own denies him the place. Has your father realised your capabilities _yet_? Or has the third son syndrome forever shielded his eyes from you?"

Whatever appearance of apathy Kyouya had been constructing then was lost. I had hit my mark. Something sparked in his grey eyes.

But then again, it might have been the light. Him having feelings was impossible.

"I work here because I _want_ to," he emphasised slowly, barely restrained anger evident in his voice, "and because _your_ father was kind enough to _invite_ me."

I didn't bother to disguise my scoff. I was too fargone. Anger had let my tongue loose, and hang me if I wasn't going to use it. "Oh? I always thought it had something to do with the obnoxious amounts of money and undeserved glory you receive. I mean it's all you want, isn't it? The aspiration to become a no-faced, no-hearted, no-souled black _suit_. What else would anyone expect from a heartless, arrogant imbecile?"

Again. The disconcerting flash in his eyes. But before I could feel anything even close to guilt, it was gone, and he was snarling at me. A vicious hiss had entered his voice. "If you weren't such a reckless idiot all the time you wouldn't be throwing yourself away at any given opportunity. Can you just think before you assume you can do it? Because you can't! You can't!"

"Enough!" my father bellowed, smacking his hands down on the mahogany desk with a definitive _thwack!_ "Enough, please!"

Both Kyouya and I jumped a little, so absorbed we were in ruining each other's confidence. I turned guiltily. Kyouya actually took it upon himself to appear vaguely humbled.

My father's anger dissipated then, and his hands left the table to dangle lifelessly by his sides. His sigh was tired, exasperated, disappointed. I gazed at the marble floor beneath my feet. "Why," he drew out the word in a mournful breath, "can't you just get along? Even as children all you would do is bicker. But this - this is too far. Please, sort this out - whatever this is. It pains me to see too young people I both esteem and treasure quarrel so." He had suddenly sounded ten years older.

I wearily glanced up at Kyouya, who was looking determinately ahead.

"I cannot," Kyouya said calmly, still staring ahead, "apologise for voicing things that are undeniably true."

My blood boiled. At that moment I wanted nothing more in the world than the pleasure of spitting on Kyouya Ootori.

Father sighed, but conceded. This, too, roused my anger. "If that's how you feel, I suppose I cannot force you to feel any different." He turned to look at me. I was forced to meet the same green eyes as my own. "But if you will allow me to have a private word with Jane, I would be greatly appreciative," he dismissed Kyouya quietly.

The twenty year old in question only inclined his head slightly, before gliding out of the study as if it had been his own original idea to leave. Typical.

I glared after him, then at the door he closed behind him, as if he would somehow feel my contempt burning through his back.

"Jane," my father's gentle voice turned my head, and we looked at each other for a few moments without speaking. I did not know what to say.

"I'll apologise to you, father," I finally said, "but I refuse to do the same for him."

He looked troubled and I felt ashamed of my own stubbornness. "Jane, I had hoped for you to come with us this time. I know it was your mother's greatest wish for you to be involved, and in turn, be close to me. She didn't want you to be left behind. I had hoped we could work together happily. But Jane, Kyouya did see flaws in the idea I had failed to take into account."

"Since when did he make all the decisions in this house? He considers himself entitled to everything. Like he can just waltz in here any moment and take your chair," I replied, injured and bitter.

Father frowned. "That's not true, Jane."

I kept my gaze on the photograph poised proudly on my father's desk. The woman was smiling, wavy dark hair tickling the scalp of the baby's head on her lap. I wondered if she would still stick to her word if she were with us today.

"She must have made a mistake. He's the epitome of arrogance, he's apathy personified. I just don't see it, father. I want out," I enunciated, my hands curling into tight fists, "I've said it again and again and again. Why isn't anyone listening?"

I heard his chair graze the floor as he stood to take my curled hands into his warm, rough grasp. When he spoke, his voice was as gentle as honey, and I knew he meant what he said. Still, I discarded it. "He deserves at least a little more time. We owe him that much. With time and patience, you may find something you weren't expecting to find."

I couldn't help but mutter, "you mean a cash register for a heart and a thief for a soul?"

"No, Jane," he rebuked me softly, mournfully. "I mean a man. You're always speaking of his arrogance and ego, but do you ever wonder of his continued business dealing with us? Surely he could make thousands, maybe even millions with other, more influential companies, and yet he applies his astounding skills here. I couldn't even say aloud the amount of good his charity has done for our company. It's simply too much."

"I-I never thought of that," came my clumsy answer. I made an effort to be somewhat diplomatic. For my father, at least. "I'll have to sleep on it."

He smiled at me encouragingly and I felt it had been worth it. He gently released my hands. "That's my girl. Why don't you send in Kyouya on your way out? And don't forget too soon what we spoke about."

I smiled at him warmly as I left and closed the heavy door behind me, but not before I heard him sigh, "oh, Josephine."

I found Kyouya in our living area, idly lazing on the white couch. He lifted his eyes to meet mine.

"So, the latest episode of self pity has finally concluded, then?"

And like that, I forgot what my father and I had discussed.

I ignored him haughtily as he got up fluidly in search of my father's study. He had almost disappeared around the corner as I called, "If you ask me, I'd say it's just beginning." His step faltered slightly, and his shoulders shook in what seemed to be a barely suppressed shudder.

And then he was gone.

"He's still downstairs," Fernand reminded me, bringing me back firmly to the present.

Shoving the book aside once and for all, I hauled myself up from the comfort of my well-padded desk chair, less than enthusiastic.

"Well," I hummed, brushing off my jeans in a vain attempt to straighten out my appearance, "best not keep his highness waiting." My face was grimly determined.

Further down the hall, there was a slow, low chuckle.

"That," came a painfully familiar voice from beyond Fernand, "would be _very_ much appreciated."

I grimaced. What fun.

**-x-x-x-**

**Inspired by 'Out of Lullabies.'**

**p.s. There's nothing like starting a new story and receiving a review on it. It's like cake. Review cake.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2.**

**(Out pretty quick, huh? There's a first.)**

**In which Kyouya Ootori produces a healthy amount of havoc. Hurrah.**

**-x-x-x-**

Kyouya sat before me, pristine in all his manicured glory. I was never going to admit it aloud - I would be subjected to all kinds of obscure torture first - but a year overseas had done the aloof man good. His face seemed a little brighter, and there was a renewed vigour in his eyes. It was a refreshing change from the usual grey rocks of death that settled on his face. I didn't speak. I was waiting for him to initiate the conversation - it was he who came here, after all. I wasn't about to draw teeth and nails just for him to say something. Anything.

But apparently, his only intent on coming here was to sit opposite and watch me intently.

Uncomfortable, I shifted my eyes from his, feeling ludicrous for my cowardice and ludicrous for my stubbornness. I settled at staring at the vase of flowers on the coffee table separating us. Orchids. How lovely.

"You want out."

Well. He didn't waste time with small talk. Not very surprising, really. I looked up to find him still watching me closely, as if the slightest movement of my body would give something dreadfully crucial away. As if his sudden personal interest wasn't unnerving enough. My answer came automatically, despite my surprise at the forward question.

"Of course," it was impossible to keep the slightly sardonic humour from my voice. "Don't you?"

His returning smile was private, and I felt a little off-balanced by the honesty in it. I had never known Kyouya Ootori to smile. Well, never to smile at me, and certainly never like that. "You can't honestly expect me to answer that now, do you? Not after such a firm answer on your part," he teased lightly, successfully evading my question.

I blinked, but recovered quickly. "That's not fair at all. If you can ask me so directly, I have every right to ask you - anything else is double-standards."

"You have every right to ask, but I may choose not to answer," was his enigmatic reply.

I sighed, frustrated. I had no one to blame but myself for that one, really. And I had been so determined to thwart any attempts he made at gaining the upper hand. Well, no more.

"Father called from India last night. He says your business trip was every inch the success he hoped it would be – he's still there, as you know. He says he owes it all to you."

Kyouya shrugged carelessly, but still seemed marginally pleased by the comment. He shifted back further into the soft, white couch. "He's exaggerating. Though I did do a heavy share of the work, it was hardly challenging. I have no idea why he would be in so much awe of it."

My eyes narrowed dangerously. "Hardly challenging? It was fairly basic, then?"

"Oh, yes," Kyouya commented, non-committal as ever as he inspected a small ball of lint on his cuff, "quite easy."

"And safe?"

"We didn't even receive a single threat."

I was angry then. "So I could have done it after all?" I demanded. "I would have been profitable and safe?"

Kyouya glanced up, only then seeming to realise I was upset. He gave a quiet groan. "Honestly, I would have thought you'd forgotten about that tiny squabble already. I can't believe you still remember it."

Even I was surprised by the venomous hiss in my own voice. "Oh, well, I've had a while to think of it. About a year, in fact."

"I don't even understand why you were so determined to go. It's just business meeting after business meeting. Hardly the holiday you were hoping for," he ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. The movement was so spontaneous, so unlike the Kyouya Ootori I knew.

"I wanted to work and you know it," I defended. "It's easy for you to just jump out the door and get out. But what of me? I'm here. Constantly. Hardly the holiday _you_ were hoping for."

"It's not just about escape," he told me, thin-lipped.

"And it's not just about profit," I cried.

He looked at me for a long moment before he laughed. I started, almost knocking over the orchids in front of me. His laugh was clear and amused, yet undeniably restrained. It was almost...pleasing to the ear. I wondered if he laughed often.

The laugh died down as he sighed tiredly, his gaze drifting to the window overlooking green hills. Moments passed. "When will I do anything right by you?" It was not stated reproachfully, as I would have expected. I almost failed to hear it. The smile he sent me was unguarded and wistful, and I had no explanation for the warmth that spread through me.

It was a bizarre comment that kicked my legs from under me. I knew how to deal with his anger and contempt, his ridicule and mockery. But remorse? I wasn't sure I didn't prefer his endless apathy.

"You're incorrigible," I noted, my voice carrying out softer than I expected.

He smiled at me, warming up to conversation. "No, incorrigible is what _you_ were as a child. If I remember correctly, it was you who used to send me envelopes with mud in them every second day."

"I never did get the address _quite_ right," my face screwed up in thought. What an odd thing to bring up. It was as if he had spent the year in India not attending business meetings as he so claimed, but brainstorming ways to hopelessly confuse me instead.

Kyouya smirked. "But they miraculously got there, somehow. There must have been higher forces on your side."

I smiled a little, remembering our small wars as children. They had seemed so significant at the time. "Sending you mud must have been in harmony with some vast, eternal plan, then. I don't know what you're complaining about, though," I straightened up, stretching my back, feeling more at ease in his company than ever before. It was a disconcerting realisation. "You were the one who would break china and then blame it on _me_. You can't deny that that's far worse. You were a demon child." Internally, I reprimanded myself. There were no past tense in this scenario. The demon child still existed, and he sat before me.

A thought must have occurred to him. He leaned forward suddenly, hands clasped on his knees, eyeing me with that same, intent look from earlier. I shifted on the cushions.

"We never have got on. Why is that, do you think?"

I didn't like the sincere curiosity in his voice. I didn't like any of this, really. I had come downstairs ready to demand an apology, hoping – in vain, no doubt, but nonetheless, hoping – to see at least _some_ grovelling, and all I was receiving was bizarre personal interest and keen looks. Not what I had bargained for, but an interesting development, without a doubt.

My laugh was coloured with derision. "You mean apart from being betrothed?"

He frowned. Not the reaction I was expecting.

"I have known plenty of people who were betrothed, and the majority seemed content. It doesn't make sense."

I shrugged. "It doesn't have to. We're too different, perhaps – like two magnets that are both positive, or negative, for that matter. It's the way it's always been."

"But," he started, and I winced. This conversation was rapidly approaching dangerous waters, with no lifeboat in sight. I wondered doubtfully if I could distract him from it.

"Did I tell you we were having a new feature put in the garden?"

He eyed my curiously. "But," he began again, speaking slower. There was a hint of humour in his voice.

Damn.

"We seem to be doing fine just now," he told me quietly.

I hated that I blushed slightly, and for no apparent reason. "Yes, well."

There was a pause. I fiddled with the sleeve of my shirt. "Yes, well," he echoed, smiling slightly. I had never realised he dimpled faintly. "I suppose I should be going."

"Oh?" I replied, embarrassingly dazed. I quickly returned to the sleeve of my shirt.

"Well," his smirk was different somehow. Less malignant. More...I didn't really want to think about it. "We can't all sit around at home doing nothing."

I groaned. So much for doing just fine.

He laughed and lifted himself up with ease. I made a move to follow.

"No, no," he pushed me back down on the couch, easily reaching over the coffee table with long arms, hand against my forehead. "You stay seated. Don't bother getting up for me."

"Please," I grumbled, irritated that his hand was still lightly against my head. At the sound of my voice he snapped it back. "I wouldn't bother doing _anything_ for you."

The good natured grin that spread on his face was remarkable. I made a note that there truly was a first time for everything. I turned my attention to the orchids in front of me, determined not to watch him leave. His footfalls were crisp, clipping fainter and fainter.

I heard the old oak doors open.

A muttered, "we'll see."

I managed to suppress a shudder.

Finally, Fernand chose to make his entrance. The man had an incredible knack for timing.

"Lovely, aren't they?"

I somehow deduced he was referring to the orchids, and not anything else.

"You always know my favourites," I told him, still watching the curling petals. Then I noticed the rubber band still holding the stems together in the glass vase. I frowned. How very unlike Fernand.

"Me?" He sounded genuinely surprised, confirming my fears. "I thought you had bought them."

I grimaced, finally turning my eyes upward.

The old oak doors had never looked so ominous.

**-x-x-x-**

**So. Here lies Chapter 2, friend for all who wished it, nurturing mother and dedicated father of the Kyouya Ootori fandom. May it rest in peace, with only the welcome disturbance of reviews, till the promised day of Chapter 3 arrives. Hey, you. You look great in black.**

**Remember, kiddies. Review cake is good for you.**


	3. Chapter 3

**(Thanks to those who took the time to review! Makes me hap-hap-happy!)**

**Chapter Three.**

**In which Tamaki Suoh reminds the world that there's a **_**reason**_** why he's so devilishly handsome.**

**-x-x-x-**

It had hardly been the exchange I was hoping for. Kyouya Ootori left the house leaving only confusion and flowers in his wake, much like the trail of destruction a tornado leaves – with the exception of the flowers, of course. Which are lovely. But that – unfortunately for Kyouya Ootori – doesn't change the fact he left without apologising, which in the end was the only thing I wanted from him. Not this. Not this endless confusion.

So now, two hours after his departure, thoughts of his sudden change of behaviour continued to plague me.

No, definitely not what I wanted. And the conniving fool has probably done it all on purpose.

I gave up _Business Today_, determined to go out. Business just made me think of him. And _he_ made me think of punching something.

Grabbing my coat off the hat stand – Fernand has always had a soft spot for items claiming to be 'two-in-one' – I buttoned up for the Autumn chill. A walk would be glorious, and just what I needed to clear the head.

I headed toward the supermarket, barely six blocks away, loving the biting cold against my neck. It was somehow fitting – a cleansing from the cold for a new dawn. What the new dawn would bring I had no idea; doubted there even was one. Nonetheless, I would be cleansed either way. Staying at home and doing nothing. Bullocks! The man had no idea what he was talking about.

I needed pens from the supermarket. The big fifty pack of biros that never seemed to run out, until suddenly they did, and you felt an urgent need to retract your last statement. Always in the odd corner of the last isle – which always made the hunt a little more interesting. It was this simple, menial task that brought me face-to-face with Tamaki Suoh.

Or, at least, who I assumed was Tamaki Suoh.

"You're Kyouya's fiance!"

It was this simple observation made in an excited, chipper voice that made me stick my head out from the rows and rows of fine liners, permanent markers, pencils, gel pens, ink pens, fountain pens – honestly, why so many pens? It was overwhelming.

My immediate reaction was to deny it to the man beside me, whose bright blonde hair seemed to constantly find his eyes. The petite brunette beside him was apprehensive, glancing from him to me as if we were competitors in a tennis match.

"Tamaki," she scolded lightly, somehow still managing a distinct monotone, "you can't go around accusing people-"

"No! No!" The supposed Tamaki exuberantly countered, "I'd recognise her anywhere!"

Then it clicked.

"Suoh?" I asked hesitantly. "Tamaki Suoh?"

He positively beamed.

That confirmed it.

"Kyouya has been talking about me then? I'm so glad! It's lovely to finally meet the elusive fiance of my dear friend! Why haven't you come to meet us sooner?" He continued to bubble, the words springing incessantly forth as the young woman beside him just smiled placidly up at me, unsure but sincere.

Kyouya had done no such thing, but I wasn't about to tell him that. I faintly recalled, perhaps two years ago, an argument between himself and I when his phone had suddenly rung. He glared at me for a second before reaching into his pocket. I fumed silently on the sidelines.

"Tamaki? Yes. No. Look, I can't right now. I'm busy. I don't care. No. Again, I don't care. Right. Bye." He snapped the device shut with an irritated _snap!_

I might have been impressed an argument with me claimed priority over this _Tamaki_ if I had not been so livid.

"Who was that?" I demanded, my arms folded over my chest.

"Tamaki Suoh," Kyouya sighed. "He's my classmate and president who-" he then seemed to remember who he was talking to. "None of your business," he snapped. I rolled my eyes. The argument resumed.

With Tamaki Suoh now standing before me in the flesh, I suddenly realised gaining priority over this man may not have been so great an honour as I thought.

"You could have visited our club – we would have been glad to have you! It's such a shame we haven't met till now – it no longer operates under my control, anymore; the club, that is – you could have met everyone!" He paused for breath long enough to recall his shorter companion. "Oh. Oh! Well, here's one now! This is my darling, Haruhi Fujioka."

Said girl stretched out her pale hand and gave me a surprisingly firm handshake for such a tiny frame. "Pleased to meet you...?"

"Jane Walters," Tamaki supplied gleefully. I stepped back, surprised.

"How did you-" I began, bewildered.

"Kyouya," Tamaki stated, as if it answered everything. Which, in a way, it probably did.

"I am who he claims," I told Haruhi solemnly as I wondered at the whole unlikely scenario. How on earth would Tamaki Suoh be able to recognise me without even having met me? Not even with Kyouya's people-tracking and recording skills did it seem likely that he would have bothered with anything concerning me. Let alone tangible photographs.

"Well," she smiled, "in that case, I am who he claims, too." She glanced up at Tamaki, who caught her eye and gave her a private smile. She smirked.

I realised they were in love.

"And you two are-?"

"Engaged to be married," Haruhi tore her eyes away from Tamaki long enough to respond. She sounded blissfully content with the term. I felt a pang of jealousy; to be engaged and in love. It was indeed a luxury.

"Congratulations!" I offered, recovered, if not a little lifeless. "When is the big day?"

"Two weeks, Saturday," Tamaki answered, proud as anything. He put an arm around his bride-to-be, who had to shift to balance this added weight with the overflowing basket of groceries.

"We're shopping to stock the new house," she explained, gesturing to the basket, the contents of which were dangerously close to toppling out. "Tamaki _eats_."

The man looked positively horrified at this basic observation.

I stifled a laugh. He was a strange kind of charisma, Tamaki Suoh. A mix of absurdity and genuine heart. I was happy for Haruhi, and she looked pretty happy for herself.

"You must tell Kyouya to come over more often," Tamaki told me, once he had recovered acceptably. "He's always working, working, working. Antoinette misses him. Well, she misses chewing on his shoes-"

"A dog," Haruhi breathed to me under her breath before I could ask whose little sister Antoinette was, and why she enjoyed chewing on shoes. I threw her a grateful smile.

"-we could have him for tea. Or lunch. Breakfast if he's _really_ busy. Oh! And you, too, of course. Come, the two of you. You have to tell him. Soon. I'm positively destitute with just Haruhi."

"Hey!" Haruhi exclaimed as I blinked owlishly, surprised the word 'destitute' just flew out of Tamaki Suoh's mouth at the speed of spit.

Tamaki just smiled at her apologetically. "Sorry, love."

She seemed appeased.

I shook my head at them. "If you want him you're going to have to tell him yourselves. I'm afraid he doesn't listen to me. My voice is only as loud as yours. Yours is possibly louder, in fact."

Tamaki was surprised. "Really? Perhaps you should try, I think you may be wrong."

The conviction in his voice was worrying.

I shrugged. "Perhaps."

He looked at me for a long moment, and I wondered if there was more to him than he let on. If anything, at least Haruhi seemed to have found something, something worth keeping. "You should come back with us for tea," he announced suddenly, one finger up in the air.

"I should?" I echoed, amused.

He gave me an impish smile as Haruhi rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Well, the way I see it, Kyouya has only one fiance, and I personally would like to get to know her better. Haruhi?"

Miraculously, Haruhi somehow knew he was asking for her opinion. I would have given him my credit card, what with the demanding tone creeping through his voice.

She shrugged, and smiled. The shrug seemed directed at him, the smile for me. I could have been wrong. I was beginning to learn that one never quite knew for sure with Haruhi Fujioka, soon to be Haruhi Suoh. "Sure," her smile evolved into a grin. "We'll meet you outside?"

I grinned right back. "I'd like that."

With my pens purchased and all accounted for – no downtown supermarket was going to rip _me_ off – I spotted the future Mr. and Mrs. Suoh leaning against a sleek black Rolls Royce in the car park. I might have gaped.

"Ready to go?" Tamaki opened the back door for me, ever the gentleman as Haruhi finished packing her groceries into the spacious boot. The inside was as sleek and polished as the interior.

Haruhi noted my admiration with a reluctant grin. "I don't understand why he takes it _grocery shopping, _of all things. It's a lot for me, too. But, you know," she threw a meaningful look at Tamaki, who was sliding into the driver's seat, "it's _him_."

She shut the boot with a final thud and we slid in.

Five minutes into the ride – the smoothest, most luxurious ride of my life – a blaringly upbeat ringtone sounded. I guessed Tamaki. I guessed correctly.

Tamaki fumbled in his pocket and threw a sleek looking phone at Haruhi, who caught it with fumbling hands and stared at it blankly, at a loss as to how to operate the thing.

"The side lock and then the green one on the bottom left hand side," he instructed with amused patience. "Honestly. It's _simple_, Haruhi."

"It's _space-age_, Tamaki," she retorted, but otherwise obeyed.

"Hello?" She asked the device.

"Who is it?" Tamaki asked at the same time as she said, "Kyouya?" They caught each other's eye, threatening to laugh out loud.

UnwillingIy I stiffened in the back.

"Yes. Mhm. He's driving. No, you can't talk to him. That would be dangerous," her monotone had returned with a vengeance.

"I've kidnapped your fiance, Kyouya," Tamaki called out joyfully from behind the wheel, loud enough for the traffic behind us to hear.

There was definite shouting on the other end as Haruhi grimaced and held the phone away from her ear. She threw Tamaki a quick, imploring look. "Did you _really_ have to do that?"

"Yes," Tamaki laughed.

Haruhi sighed and returned the phone to her ear.

"Yes, she is with us.

Yes, she's safe.

What?

Of course not!

No.

No.

Good Lord, no.

What do you take us for? She's fine!

Yes, _willingly_.

For tea.

Yes, Kyouya, we _do_ drink tea.

What?

Now?

Uh, Tamaki?"

Tamaki continued to drive, eyes focused ahead of him.

"Tamaki!" Haruhi repeated, exasperated.

"What? Oh. What?"

"I hope you bought enough biscuits," she told him as she hung up, "because we're having one more over."

My stomach sank.

Not again.

**Hurrah for regular updates!**

**BeeTeeDubs, the absolute **_**hottie**_** returns next chapter. You know who I mean. Yeah. M-hm. Winkity wink wink. **_**Nice**_**.**

**p.s. I see an oven. It's beautiful; shiny, new, clean. I reach in. What I find changes everything. Cake. But not just any cake. **_**Review**_** cake. Woah.**


	4. Chapter 4

**The fourth. May it's four-ness ring out loud and clear.**

**In which Tamaki Suoh, Haruhi Fujioka, Kyouya Ootori and Jane Walters discover the factual realities behind the Mad Hatter's tea party.**

**-x-x-x-**

Two encounters in one day was more than I had ever known to be subjected to, and if it hadn't been for the sheer beauty of Tamaki and Haruhi's house and their equally lively company, I'm sure I wouldn't have survived.

It was grand. And yet, it still held a distinct homely feel – Haruhi's work, no doubt. The place was distinctly Japanese, and I admired to the full the foreign curves and curls of the architecture. It was a far cry from the Victorian homes of England, for sure. It was all positively enchanting. So I told them so.

"It's enchanting."

They beamed, arms wrapped around each other as the three of us stood outside the front door, admiring all things from the grass to the door knob. Tamaki had taken it upon himself to point out all things that were his idea.

"We weren't going to have a fountain, but then I wanted to keep fish, so Haruhi gave in and let me put one in – see. There she is. I've already decided to call her _Aquariusum_. Beautiful, isn't she?" He then leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially in my ear, "She's a bit bigger than what I told Haruhi she'd be. Don't tell."

I laughed as Haruhi rolled her eyes, obviously hearing the barely concealed 'whisper.'

"Right. Well, are we going inside or not?" She urged.

Who was I to deny the call of tea and biscuits?

We followed her in eagerly.

"We've been together since Haruhi was sixteen."

"Seventeen," Haruhi corrected, cookie half crumbled in her mouth as she spoke, sending a few crumbs flying into the sugar bowl. Tamaki winced. "I was seventeen. That first year in the Club _does not_ count."

Tamaki shook his head furiously, almost spilling tea all over the table we were gathered around. "It counts. You loved me from the moment you saw me."

"You mean when you thought I was a boy, and also, undeniably gay?" Haruhi smirked around her teacup.

Tamaki whimpered and returned to his eating. And boy, did Tamaki _eat_.

I had been given a crash course for the past half hour in all things Ouran, and more specifically, Host Club. I had heard tidbits from Kyouya over the past few years, little scraps of information he had given when his guard was down, but nothing like this. It was a name here. A number there. A costume showing up at my address instead of his. Admittedly, I had been intrigued, but never pried for more information. It was something that belonged in Kyouya's world, after all. I didn't want to know about anything residing there.

But now, hearing the odd stories that seem more fiction than fact – oh, the dirt I could have had on him!

The sound of a doorbell sent my teacup clashing against the saucer.

Tamaki excused himself, and got up to answer it, leaving me alone with Haruhi.

She watched me, her wide brown eyes impossibly astute.

"Do you really mean to tell me you're engaged to him, and are enemies at the same time?" Her voice was hushed. I heard Tamaki's jovial voice greeting him in.

"Yes," I answered after a moment's pause. But I had hesitated too long.

She positively swooped. "What? What? I mean," she reigned in her eagerness a little, "you don't have to share if you don't want to. I mean, we hardly know each other, so..." she trailed off.

I listened to the voices. They seemed to be stuck talking by the door. A double interrogation? No, _highly_ unlikely. I sighed.

"He came back this morning...different. I don't know. He was being, dare I say it, _charming_. It was the strangest thing I ever saw."

Her eyes widened. "Kyouya?"

"Of course Kyouya," I sighed again. "I don't know what's gotten into him. Is he trying to wriggle his way in? I don't know. I don't know anything at the moment."

"He's never acted like this before?"

"He's always hated me. Always."

Haruhi looked toward the open doorway, where their footfalls were to be heard drawing nearer.

She seemed deep in thought. "Maybe he's had a change of heart," she suggested, eyeing me slyly.

I snorted into my teacup, just short of choking myself. "_What_?"

Haruhi just grinned.

"May I present Kyouya Ootori," Tamaki announced grandly, pushing his friend through the door unceremoniously.

Kyouya stumbled, caught himself, and glared daggers at his giddy friend.

"What is _wrong_ with you, Tamaki?" He growled.

Tamaki pointed at me. "I told you she was here, so just relax already."

Kyouya turned around slowly, starting as if he didn't expect to see me behind him, sipping tea. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He actually braced himself.

"I, er, I _am _relaxed, Tamaki. I have no idea what you are talking about."

I had never heard him sound so flustered.

Tamaki snorted derisively and plopped himself down next to his fiance, who was shoving her face deeper into her teacup, shoulders shaking merrily. I hoped she would choke, the traitor.

"You can sit down," I told him mildly, indicating the chair next to me, before returning to my tea. He only stared at the three of us around the table, eating and drinking lazily, as if unable to believe his eyes.

Eventually, I heard china clinking to my side, and I knew he was there. And sitting far too close. His body heat was radiating off onto my right arm.

"I had no idea you knew Tamaki and Haruhi," he said to me, voice smooth and polished. Politely disinterested. His hands held the teapot steady.

Haruhi was wrong. She had to be.

"I only met them today," I told him, watching the two as they began chatting merrily between themselves. Ah. Left with Kyouya. Wonderful. "You never told me you had such good friends."

"Well, you never asked, I guess." He, too, was watching them.

"No, I guess I didn't." I felt guilty for some inexplicable reason. Over only a few hours he had made me feel regret over my past wrongs toward him. I didn't want to think about what a few days could do.

He watched my curiously as I fiddled with the cup.

"You never talked about me to your friends," he stated.

I blinked. "No," I answered honestly, "but we went to different schools. What's the point of describing someone who means nothing to the people you're describing him to? They would never meet you." Then, in an effort to imitate him, I added, "where's the merit in that?"

I wasn't sure if I wanted to antagonise him or humour him. Maybe I just wanted an actual reaction out of him.

He smiled a little. I hated that I was satisfied with that. "But I've spoken about you to my friends," he admitted.

I stared. "What?"

He must have found my disbelief amusing. His smile grew.

"I said I've spoken about you to my friends."

"What did you tell them?" I demanded, slightly horrified.

"Er," he coughed, suddenly anxious. "Nothing of significance."

"Jane," Tamaki addressed me, and Kyouya looked relieved. Damn him for getting out of it. "Help us sort this out. A teacher or an astronaut?"

"What?" I asked, coherent as ever.

Tamaki sighed impatiently. "A teacher or an astronaut?" The slight emphasis he placed on the latter was blaringly obvious.

I glanced at Haruhi, who was mouthing 'teacher' behind his back.

"Teacher?" I hazarded, having no idea what I may or may not have just agreed to. Haruhi looked overwhelmingly smug. Were all their conversations based on multiple choice questions?

"See?" She cried as Tamaki slumped his shoulders and sulked, muttering about the moon.

Kyouya thwarted the victory. Of course. "Why a teacher?"

Damn it.

It took a fair amount of effort to keep myself from glancing at Haruhi, anxious for a clue. "Er, because at the end of the day, someone actually listens to the teacher."

Haruhi beamed, elbowing Tamaki in the ribs to further her victory. Tamaki let out a short gasp.

But Kyouya was not so easily satisfied. "And why is it so important for someone to listen?" I had a bizarre feeling he was asking something else, something beyond me. He watched me carefully.

"Unless you're listened to, you have no way of knowing your own worth."

He watched me still. It was the same look from earlier; dark and intense. Only then was I able to identify it.

He was searching.

I so wanted to tell him he would not find it in me, but I was arrested by it.

"Very true," Tamaki nodded solemnly, breaking the spell. "It wasn't until Haruhi listened to me that I realised the deep, empowering love that flew eternally between us."

"When have I _ever _listened to you, exactly?"

"Very true," he nodded.

"A woman is the hardest thing to keep, Tamaki," Kyouya chided his friend knowingly, glasses catching the afternoon sun. "You should know that."

"As should you," heartily laughed the blonde. "And when are you going to keep yours? Did I tell you it's only two weeks, Saturday for us?"

I felt my face heat up, remembering my earlier declaration: _I want out_. I doubted neither Tamaki nor Haruhi were as anxious to hear Kyouya's answer as I was.

"You did," came Kyouya's cool reply. "As regards to your other question...Jane?"

Oh no.

"Yes?" I tried to sound oblivious. He smirked.

"Would you do the honours?"

And to think I ever thought that smile was marginally charming.

"Do you make all your finaces do your dirty work?" I hissed at him under my breath.

His answering smile almost took up his whole face.

"Only the pretty ones."

For the second time he had left me bewildered. This was not good precedent. I stared. His smile remained in tack. Then, it grew, inch by inch.

I was immediately on guard. "What?" I asked wearily.

"That's the first time you have called yourself my fiance."

I opened my mouth then shut it. Opened it again. Shut it. Any one of these days I would fully evolve into a goldfish. Kyouya continued to smile at me like he'd won the lottery.

"Hey Jane, what do you do exactly?"

I love Haruhi Fujioka.

I turned gratefully to her, just about ready to answer anything she would throw at me. Anything to save me from _him_.

"I'm a student. I also handle minor business dealings on behalf of my father's company. We're in shipping." It flowed out easily, having been spoken again and again and again.

Something sparked in her large brown eyes. "You would get to travel a fair bit then?" She sighed wistfully.

"Er, no, actually. I've only been overseas once – and that's when I grew up in England."

Beside me, Kyouya shifted uncomfortably. Good. Serves him right.

"Oh," she back-tracked, "why is that?"

A small window of opportunity was wide open and waiting. I smiled and turned to Kyouya.

"Kyouya?"

"Yes?" His voice struggled to sound oblivious. For the first time I could ever remember, Kyouya Ootori looked frightened. My smile grew.

"Would you do the honours?"

He turned to me, appalled. I raised my brows, expectant. He turned away, grimacing.

"Well, uh. You see," he struggled, sending occasional glares my way, "it's rather complicated."

"And I can't keep up?" Haruhi raised a questioning eyebrow.

"It's nothing like that," Kyouya started, then smiled. "It's a private matter."

And that's when I saw the flaws in my revenge.

"A private matter?" Tamaki demanded, incredulous. "Between whom?"

Kyouya smiled enigmatically and let his arm drape across the back of my chair, his hand curling around my bare shoulder. I had no words for the spark that ran to my stomach.

"Between my fiance and I, of course."

Two sets of eyes bulged out of their heads.

Tamaki addressed me excitedly, barely keeping still in his seat. "It's settled, then? You're going to go through with it? This is so unexpected – Kyouya had always said, even in school, that you-"

"-were willing, for the most part," Kyouya cut off smoothly. I looked up at him in time to catch the remnants of what might have been a warning look thrown at Tamaki.

Tamaki sighed and shook his head, all the while watching his friend.

"A date has not yet been settled," Kyouya announced, obviously having mastered the delicate skill of ambiguity. The topic suddenly seemed closed at his words, a fact I was immediately grateful for. Tamaki was disappointed. Haruhi was inspecting her biscuit, maybe oblivious, maybe not. I had a feeling for the latter.

"Well," Tamaki smiled his smile he was rarely seen without, "I can tell you that _our_ wedding is going to be _quite_ the event of the year-"

Haruhi snorted.

"-you two are coming, aren't you? I even ordered a swan ice sculpture with adorable little-"

"You did _what_?" Haruhi hissed, hand dangerously close to the butter knife. Her fingers twitched.

Sheepishly, Tamaki ducked his head. "Did I say ice sculpture? What I meant was, er, rice culture. Because we're in Japan. And Japan has a lot of rice. Not _nearly_ as much as what is going to be served at the reception, mind you. You like rice. You should be happy."

Haruhi groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Oh god. I'm going to married next to an ice sculpture. A _swan_ ice sculpture. Oh god," she wailed despondently, voice slightly muffled.

Awkwardly patting her back, Tamaki glanced around the room hectically.

"What is it?" I asked, afraid of the answer.

"I could have sworn there was a stress-ball around here somewhere..."

Kyouya looked vaguely interested. "Stress-ball?" He leaned forward in his chair.

Tamaki nodded eagerly, his pats on his finace's back growing less rhythmic as he explained. "A fantastic commoner's invention. Haruhi got it as a freebie down at the supermarket. We lost the first one so I went back and personally asked for another. It causes a bit of hassle, apparently. She gets a bit stressed with the wedding preparations, you know."

"He wanted a theatre troop to perform the ceremony in mime last week," Haruhi commented dryly from between fingers, one large eye peeping out. "I _needed_ that stress-ball."

"I only want the best for you," he lifted her chin to face him, smiling admiringly at his bride, doing a mighty fine job of beguiling her.

Haruhi managed a weak smile back, doing an equally fine job of being utterly and hopelessly beguiled.

"See now?" He told Kyouya wisely. "Nothing can stop the course of true love."

"I believe your right, Tamaki," came the reply.

**-x-x-x-**

**A/N: (To read or not to read is the question.) I'm so glad people are 1. reading this, and 2. enjoying it. **

**Theglasseslover: ****Yeah, that line was my favourite, too! I'm so glad someone else found it funny; it makes me feel like less of a douche for laughing at my own work while typing. **

**Lady of blatant sarcasm:**** Ha, if I wrote it I would. I must think about doing a one-shot based on that phone call – it **_**would**_** be kind of funny **** Thanks for the review! P.s. love your username.**

**BloodXXXwolf:**** Thank you! And yes, Tamaki's precious!**

**Ookami-no-seirei: Haha, thanks. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**

**Queen Violet of the Underworld:**** Firstly, your name makes me feel I should be addressing you more formally. It's pretty impressive **** Your review was awesome – it really made my day. Yeah, OOC bugs me a bit, too, unless it's explained or given good reason for, because all people change under different circumstances. I hope to throw in a few twists to the usual 'we're engaged, but crumbs, I hate you face,' so yeah, stay with me!**

**Goshkaity****: Well, this is all I've pre-written, so now I've got to type up a few more chapters. Unfortunately, I've been guilty of awkward updating times, but since this story won't be a 60-chapter phenomenon, it'll be all regular updates from here on in! Thanks for your review, too, by the way!**

**Micky Moon****: Well, I hope the potential is fulfilled **** Thanks for your review!**

**MizLizzi:**** Yeah, I love it when things like that happen. Thanks for taking the time to review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**-x—x—x—**

**Do you know what 'schnook' is a synonym for?**

**Procrastinator. Hypocrite. (But still loved. Guiltily loved. Like chocolate.)**

**Chapter 5 is out. Finally.**

**In which the colour grey is exemplified though conversation, or really, lack thereof.**

**-x—x—x—**

"I've offended you."

I was hoping for them to be the right words to have said. Fifteen minutes into the car ride home had been spent in distanced silence. The interior was completely grey – just one more addition to my growing associations with Kyouya Ootori. I almost felt the need to squint to separate his person from the soft grey lining. Fifteen minutes of grey, and he still had offered no words to clear this state of ambiguity. His stubbornly ignoring me would not have mattered, had it not been for the niggling feeling in my fingertips that he was anxious to speak.

In an unprecedented fit of gallantry, he had insisted of chauffeuring me back home, claiming that it was going to rain. Claiming it was going to storm. Claiming a hailstorm was on the way of phenomenal proportions. Claiming fiery destruction would be served this very night. It would not have mattered what he claimed, really. I _would_ ride with him. And that was that.

As it turned out, rain had not yet fallen. We have yet to receive news of the possibility of walloping balls of destructive fire.

So, in the age-old spirit of trial-and-error, I spoke, hoping for some kind of response, reaction. What was my offence? Who knows. With the eerily quiet man right next to me, yet thousands of miles away in the backseat of his sleek grey car, it could be anything. It could be everything. With my luck, it was _probably_ everything.

He seemed to think through his answer thoroughly, and just as I concluded that he was going to blow it all and continue to ignore me in favour of the passing scenery outside his window, he spoke. One syllable.

"No."

I frowned down at my hands, displeased with his answer. It gave me nowhere to go. I resumed looking out the window, watching cars fly by. They all seemed in an awful hurry. I was slightly envious.

"I'm just surprised," I heard him state. Another car flew past. Grey. "I never expected to live to see the scene."

I turned back to him, confused. The figure huddled into the corner was staring down at his hands, as if never having seen such a sight before. "What scene? What are you talking about?"

He sighed as the remnants of a half-hearted shrug bounced off his shoulders. "You, Tamaki, Haruhi - all huddled together having tea. Never could I have predicted it."

He turned to face me fully. He was smiling, smiling hugely. I was taken aback by the sincerity, the excitement flashing in his eyes. Had there really been a time when they would sit lifeless?

"What do you mean? Why is it so extraordinary?"

He was smiling about it, like he was struggling to contain some private, bursting happiness. I could not move past it. It was all far too surreal.

And as quick as it had appeared, it slipped away. He was torn. From the leaning of his head to the twitch of his hands he was torn. He opened his mouth. Frowned. Then he met my eye and seemed determined. He opened his mouth again.

But there was a change. The fire in his eyes was reigned in. He had changed his mind.

"Would it be premature to say we're becoming friends?" He asked abruptly, smiling beguilingly at me, head tilted, determination squashed, lost, and pronounced dead.

Caught off guard by his sudden change in demeanour, I shook my head. "I wouldn't dare say it – not quite yet. Perhaps this is, though, a truce."

"A truce?" He sounded it out, smile in tack. There was contentment settled on his face, much like a sleeping cat. "I suppose I'll take that – for now."

"Good," I smiled, wondering if I could master it as charmingly as he.

He turned his entire body towards, me then, apparently waiting for immediate engagement. If a truce was all it took to make him this agreeable, it was a wonder why he seemed so hostile and alone a good part of the time.

"I have something to ask you," he told me when it became apparent I could not come up with something to say that would not lead us into a fiery debate. Well, not alone, at least. Peace was a route I seldom travelled when it came to Kyouya Ootori. Apparently, though, all that was in the past now. "You are coming with me to Tamaki's wedding."

I was amused by his assumption. The smirk that spread across my face was lacking its usual sardonic edge. Maybe a truce wouldn't be so bad. "Is that really a question?"

He grimaced as he shifted his weight. It was laughable how uncomfortable he was with such a simple concept. "Fine. I mean, forgive me," he corrected himself. "Jane, I would be honoured if you accompanied me to Tamaki's wedding."

I grinned. "Define 'accompany.'"

"Damnit, Jane," he groaned, running one hand through his hair, flustered. Well, as about as flustered as an Ootori can be. "This is hard enough as it is."

"Fine. I mean, yes," I corrected myself, unable to swipe the ridiculous grin off my face. "Just don't come crying to me if you end up regretting this."

"Yes?" He grinned, and I found myself fascinated by the unusual sight. "I don't think I will regret it, but if I did, I think you would be the last person I'd come running to, correct?"

"That grin becomes you," I noted, smiling kindly.

He faltered. It was probably the last response he was expecting. "What?"

"Amazingly, though, you don't look a mite handsome with it. Your whole face scrunches up. Like a raisin. Still, I like it," I continued, bending my fingers into a grotesque knot to demonstrate the effect.

"Not a mite handsome?" Kyouya echoed, incredulous. His eyebrows seemed permanently etched into his hairline, eyes expanding to catch up.

"Not even in the slightest."

He laughed, loud and clear and ringing and startling our driver.

"Your compliments need work," he told me, a little breathless, a little in awe.

The sound was still ringing in my ears, like an exotic foreign instrument. I wanted him to know I meant no harm. I wanted to hear that sound again. "I didn't mean to offend you. I don't know what I was thinking, blabbing on about something like that – I mean usually, usually you're handsome, but it was nice to-"

"You think I'm handsome?"

I snorted derisively. "Don't pretend you don't hear it every single day of your life."

"Not from people whose opinions I genuinely respect and value, no. But from mindless, depthless bigots who take anything on mere face value, then usually, yes. From you, no, that's quite different. That's quite, quite different."

Lord.

"Jane."

I was beginning to fear Haruhi had not been too far off the mark, after all.

"If you'll let me, I'd like to introduce you to some friends tomorrow," he said, his light-hearted lilt now sobered.

I met his steady grey gaze. "I'm not sure," I hesitated, for reasons he probably could not understand. But I understood. I understood all ten thousand reasons I should hesitate.

"Please."

I sighed. So much for staying out of his world.

"Of course," I smiled wanly. "I'll do that. On one condition."

"And what would that be?"

My smile grew and graduated to a grin. "You tell me what you didn't answer earlier at Tamaki's. Tell me what you told your friends about me."

His eyes grew alarmingly large. "No." The answer was automatic; fretful poorly disguised as indifferent.

"No?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Because if you are, I'm sure there's plenty I could be doing tomorrow. I've got all the work I've been assigned over the break, chores around the house, watering the plants..." I ticked them off on my fingers, one by one.

He shook his head, smiling sadly. "I'll tell you another time. Not now. Not yet."

I frowned at him. "You do realise I'll hold you to that, right?"

"I'm counting on that."

Sighing, I collected my bag as we pulled in through the familiar iron gates of my home. "Nevertheless, I'll come tomorrow. _I'll_ be honourable in this truce," I sniffed good-naturedly.

"Honourable? You just attempted to bargain with me," he scoffed, inspecting his nails. "I hardly think you have that kind of power in this truce. We all know I'm the alpha here."

I made sure to give the car door a good slam as I jumped out.

**-x—x—x—**

**A little short, but I wanted to get something up here quick.**

**And "yay" for sneak previews: next chapter is going to be Kyouya's POV, which I've started, but am determined to post, and not back out from (I'm generally wary when stories swap main character's point of views, but I felt that he needed his time. We're only getting Jane's take on events, which is not always the way things were actually carried out. So yeah. Officially justified.) Some major plot development and background history there that will clear up a lot.**

**You know what word is almost as hard to rhyme with as **_**orange**_**? Review.**

**Renew.**

**...Preview?**

**...**

**See-view-**

**...**

**Never mind.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Le Gasp.**

**I'm back (in black, baby).**

**My sincerest apologies, however, I vow that this story will not be left unfinished.**

**A word of advice: Last chapter a meeting of "friends" was alluded to (lol, and as ****Queen Violet of the Underworld**** so kindly pointed out, this could only mean the host club, as everyone knows Kyouya has no other friends). That meeting will be in the next chapter. **

**This is to be considered a sort of break, or interlude; Kyouya's POV. Well.**

**Chapter 6.**

**In which there is heartlessness.**

**-x-x-x-**

_I had always imagined myself dying alone. _

_I'm in a line of work that guarantees no real mourners at my funeral, unless, of course, they are investors. If anything, the best I can expect to receive is an angry mob of greens, stock holders, humanitarians and a few odd, unwilling figures from my own immediate family, all huddled around the grave in varying shades of black and grey, all undeniably there to make sure that the villain is indeed truly dead._

_Whether my time comes peacefully after years and years of ploughing savagely through the business world, lying with white, fluffy hair on a wad of accumulated money like a corrupted sacrifice, or slain by the hand of some jealous rival, taken down prematurely as my enemy dreams of his future share of emeralds and glory. In either which case, I'm alone. _

_And I was perfectly content with that. I had always considered myself settled on a higher plane than the common man, in no need or want for their earthly desires. I could not afford the distraction from my work. I was a business man. A man of business. Emotions only complicated the intricate process of the mind, clouding and perverting judgement. I could not allow that. I had more sense. More realism. More reason._

_More life to live to throw it all away for a notion as naive as love._

_With this understood, it would come as no surprise then that my initial reaction to the news of my own arranged engagement was one of absolute horror._

_I was sixteen at the time. I learnt my bride-to-be, a girl by the stunningly average name of Jane Walters, was currently residing in England, Devonshire. She was fourteen years of age, coming from a distinguished family running a distinguished company living a not-so-distinguished life. From what I could gleam from various sources, her existence was, at best, mediocre._

_I had not met her, and yet, I disliked her greatly already. Jane Walters might have had distinguished grades, good breeding, an acceptable face and good sense, yet I was offended by her existence. My life had only gained another weight to drag around. I pleaded with my father, to no avail. His face remained impassive. I believe my rebellion only caused our father-son relationship to loosen further. _

_And yet, one year later, when I was seventeen years old, I made a startling discovery._

_Jane Walters stumbled through the terminal after her father, lugging two large luggage bags after her with an almost destructive intent. My father, Fuyumi and I were assembled to greet the infamous duo. Fuyumi was excited. Father was apathetic. I was ready to leave._

_We met. We shook hands. We suffered._

_It was at least some comfort to know Jane Walters was just about as happy with the arrangement as I was. The scowl on her face seemed permanent as she warily surveyed the three of us. _

_Fuyumi immediately latched onto her, which was no great surprise to any of us except the English girl in question. Fuyumi, you must understand, is a mixture of heart, tolerance, curiosity and good-breeding. The girl – her soon-to-be sister-in-law (if Father would have his way, after all) – who walked through the terminal's double doors was a question to be answered, and answered with delicacy, at that. So, she swooped in a way only an elder sister can. Jane Walters seemed mildly surprised by this curious development. Perhaps she had expected us to abandon her at the gate. I couldn't blame her if she had._

_I was still considering the possibility, after all._

_And while my sister chattered merrily in speedy Japanese to the young arrival, and while the young arrival answered in shaky, accented Japanese, and while the two fathers eyed each other with trained, intelligent eyes, I stood, doing my best impression of a mute as my world crumbled around me._

_I distinctly remember the car ride back._

_My sister, who though at times appears whimsical and ignorant (much like a certain blonde, half-French friend of mine), did inherit our father's quick eye – just like the rest of us. Yet, while we sons might have observed the uncomfortable atmosphere surrounding the two betrothed young people (who wanted nothing more than to return to their own respective lives) and simply ignored it, my sister, the meddling woman, decided to take things into her own slim, pale hands._

"_Kyouya, what on earth are you doing?"_

_She had addressed me so, one eyebrow arched with a silly smile playing along her lips._

_Arrangements had been made for the families to dine together that evening, and I had every intention of riding back with my own, brooding in the backseat as we would drive to the assigned destination. I would meet her there again, and be forced to endure another two to three hours of her frowns and glares._

_I halted mid-slip, my body half-way in our sleek, black Royce. I gave her the look, hoping uselessly that it might intimidate her into silence. I should have known better._

"_You and Jane should go together; father, Mr Walters and I will go in the Royce. You should be more attentive to your fiancé." She had the audacity to give me a syrupy smile._

_I glanced over at the taxi Jane was hauling her luggage into, despite the driver fluttering by her side, insisting he take over. She ignored him._

_Jane looked up then, and our eyes immediately met. _

_I will never come to know how she was able to comprehend the situation through that one look, and it has often left me wondering what my face must have looked like at that moment. For sure, at the time I had believed myself completely composed, my mask of indifference applied with no defect at all. _

_Now, looking back, I realise bitterness must have been radiating off me in waves large enough to drown Tokyo._

_She turned to her father at once, almost knocking the taxi driver off his feet. She spoke in rapid, frantic English. She leant in close to her ear, and I realised she was taking precautions when around me. Did she somehow know I was fluent in English?_

_I did, however, catch one line of her desperate whispering._

"_Please, don't leave me with him, father."_

_The kind man only laughed lowly and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze._

_I envied his obvious affections. My own father stood a little way off, from myself, talking hastily into his mobile phone._

_It was at that moment, I think, that we both must have realised this was a battle we would be fighting alone._

_She stood helplessly by the taxi. I stuck my head up indifferently._

_We spent the two-hour drive in silence, that is, until she spoke to me. Her voice was heavy, and it settled on me like the weight of the ocean._

"_If I were to commit a crime, would you say your father would release me from this arrangement?"_

_I was taken aback slightly, wondering if she was serious. Surely not, but then again, I wouldn't put it past my father to choose a mad-woman for me intentionally. He probably would have thought it a fitting union._

"_What did you have in mind?"_

_I stared out at the passing scenery, willing myself to keep from drowning under the suffocating weight of her words._

"_Piracy."_

_A small smile couldn't help but tug lightly at my lips. _

_Now, I wish I had let out the small incredulous laugh that had been building inside my chest at that moment._

_Instead I was callously sombre. I believed myself to be the one suffering the most. I believed she would eventually fall for my good looks, or some such ridiculous notion. I believed it so faithfully._

"_I'm afraid it might have to be something somewhat more devastating. Like murder."_

_I chanced a glance at her then, wondering how far I could push her. When I saw her lips quirk upwards and move, it felt like we were meeting again, anew. I adjusted my glasses as she spoke, secretly checking for marks – anything that might have obscured my vision beforehand._

"_Are you volunteering?" _

**-x-x-x-**

_One month after our first meeting, I was in terrible danger._

_I had made a pact with myself to watch her, observe her, take note of any weakness, imperfection, or disgrace that she bore. It was the way I did things. It was the way I kept one step ahead._

_She had a fiery temper, that much was certain. It was foolishly flammable; there was no restraint, no patience in her countenance. She never took the liberty of guarding her feelings, all would be let loose and thrown in my face should I step wrong. Which was often. Or perhaps, more accurately, constantly._

_Her words would fly like bullets at my head, and I fought the urge on several occasions to duck instinctively. She curled her fists in rage, her cheeks would redden and her eyes glaze over in her hatred of me. Admittedly, though, I admired her retorts sometimes. Despite her rage, her words were always carefully chosen and pronounced perfectly, like an intricate dance. Her eyes would brighten to a curiously bright green as she sneered at me. The passions of her feelings were felt in the air surrounding her. When she walked in, the room suddenly felt alive and exerting a similar power. I felt it. I admit that I enjoyed it. For the first time in a month, I felt grateful she was paying me any mind at all._

_And thoroughly hated myself for it._

_After one month, I had become accustomed to her rage. Her stubbornness. Her glares. Her fiery words. Her hatred. After one month, it was all I really expected of her._

_I remember that night distinctly. I can't possibly recall it now without encouraging an onslaught of emotions. Her voice carried down the halls to my bedroom that night, softer than I had ever heard it, echoing against itself and tangling daintily in unseen cobwebs. I thought a stranger must have entered the house._

"_You're working yourself too hard." There was a soft smile in her voice, tinged with compassion so fierce it was devastating. I realised she was talking to her father. The low, reluctant chuckle that followed confirmed my suspicions._

"_Work is good. Keeps my mind young," came the gruff voice._

_A sigh. Deep and low and wistful and dipped in dark honey. _

"_I'm bringing you home, father."_

_Silence._

"_My clients need me."_

_A rustle. Soft footfalls. Listening to her, I smelt sweet perfume by my neck for some inexplicable reason._

"_So do I." At that moment, she was all compassion. Kindness. Sincerity so true it hurt. Patient. Reasonable. Terribly, terribly, terribly sweet._

_And I had felt cheated. How could I have ever suspected she was capable of anything other than her passionate fury? Why was I bearing the brunt of her coldness while everyone else surrounding her lived off her goodness? How could I have ever found her unbearable sincerity? It simply wasn't fair. My mind had raced for potential reasoning, but found none. Well, none that allowed my pride and vanity to remain intact._

_My mind wandered to imagine what it would be like. To be the one receiving her assurances of needing me. To wake every morning to a dreamily smiling face beside me, a wife, a lover, a friend. To hear her same my name in that same tone, that low, calm voice, dripping with thick, dark honey._

_I was horrified with myself._

_I may have finally relented that Jane Walters was a bird, but to her, I was still the cage._

_This is the way it would be. This is the way it would always be._

_I resolved to think of her no more._

_Years later, I would call her foolish for wanting to throw caution to the wind and accompany her father and I on a potentially dangerous business endeavour. I would stand by her side in a room made of mahogany and bad-mouth the girl who had touched my heart so discreetly all those years ago. I would pray for my feelings to be returned, I would fear them if they were. _

_I called her foolish, I thought her brave._

_I called her reckless, I thought her spirited._

_I called Jane Walters idiotic._

_Well, she had positively nothing on me._

**-x-x-x-**

**A/N: I was reading this story, came to the last chapter, and thought, 'hey, this person should update this. It's not a bad story.'**

**Hang on.**

**Heartily, I apologise for not returning to this sooner. Expect updates in the coming week. I know some things are still a little unclear, but this won't be the only Kyouya POV I write in this story. Things will become certain, little by little. I promise.**

**x Schnook**

**ps. Your reviews keep me going! Thanks for all the support; you guys are all kinds of awesome in the coolest degree :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Once I started again, I couldn't stop. So, here's an early chapter in the hopes you'll forgive me for my recent neglect.**

**Chapter 7**

**In which Jane Walters and the former Host Club find their first meeting to be nothing short of awkward. Fun.**

**-x-x-x-**

I had been to the Ootori mansion many a time before.

In my earlier teens, I was often subjected to spend several days there at a time, which was just about as relaxing as having your fingernails slowly pulled out. The sphere of tension the house cradled itself in was indescribable. Mr Ootori himself, though hardly seen in the flesh, was tangible in the oppression of the air in the halls, the ballrooms, the kitchens. Stepping into that place was to step into 1984, feeling eyes that may or may not have existed burning into your back. Watching and being watched. I hated it with a passion. I often faked sick just to leave early – in those days I suffered flues, colds, hyperthermia, fevers, stomach pains, spasms, choking episodes, asthma attacks, even near death on a weekly basis. They must have thought me a walking germ factory.

To get out of there, though, I would have gone so far as to amputate my left hand. It was being in that house, seeing that life, that I would actually feel sorry for Kyouya Ootori. Outside those walls, though, my compassion would vanish.

To return there now, after almost two years to meet some supposed friends of my pseudo-yet-perhaps-real fiancé made me more nervous than I care to express.

The mansion looked basically the same, which surprised me. The Ootoris often struck me as the kind of people who are constantly evolving, constantly changing and adapting to a fast-paced world. I stood before the grand entrance, hesitating as the car that brought me slowly pulled away. The doors were entirely composed of tinted glass. I recalled faintly an older Ootori son boasting they had been designed and created by the same family that had constructed the windows for the old fourteenth century Italian churches along Venice. Such grandeur was probably not necessary, but I'll admit – never out loud, thank you very much – that it was simply beautiful.

The Goddess of Fertility stared out at me, offering lilies, stained in blue and green.

Then said goddess moved. Or rather, the door creaked open unexpectedly.

"One of the maids thought you were a burglar, standing stupidly in front of the place like this. She had a candlestick ready. Rather melodramatic of her, if you ask me."

Fuyumi opened the door wider, revealing an extremely pale-faced maid behind her, hovering apprehensively in the shadows.

"See there? It's only Jane. Now put the candlestick down and calm yourself. That thing is worth more than your yearly wage."

The maid blushed, curtseyed, and then proceeded to be at a loss as to where to put the thing. Her hands fluttered about nervously.

Fuyumi sighed gently.

"Here, give it to me."

The maid was only too happy to oblige. She excused herself shakily.

"Poor thing. I don't suppose we receive many visitors these days. She's been jumpy ever since the boys arrived early this morning. But you're early yourself. I thought you would be coming for lunch, Jane," she told me, hands waving about expressively. I winced as she almost sent the candlestick flying through the wall.

My primary concern was to remove the slightly air-headed woman from the makeshift-weapon. God only knows how many people she's accidentally injured in the course of her lifetime.

"Put that thing away, invite me in, and then we'll talk," I instructed warily. I was glad to meet Fuyumi first. Her lightness and good nature always had the uncanny ability to set my troubles at ease. We had always been on good terms, perhaps not intimate, but friendly for sure. I enjoyed her doting and she seemed amused, if not initially shocked by my cheek. Out of the Ootori clan, she had been the one to immediately express a desire to be on good terms with me. I was still grateful to her for her kindness at the airport all those years ago.

Unceremoniously, she tossed the candlestick at a near-by dresser in the hall. It landed with a definitive _thwack!_ on the surface and bounced onto the cold, marble floor, rolling a little as if clinging onto dear life. I was certain I heard something break. Whether it was the antique-looking dresser, the candlestick or the tile I couldn't say for certain.

Fuyumi just grinned.

Her absence of mind was positively disarming. I couldn't help but snort good-naturedly.

"Well then, come in," she pulled at my arm with enthusiasm, a strange glint in her eyes. "I don't think they expected you here already, so they're having a secret meeting, apparently." She pulled me across the threshold and into a familiar sitting room.

I stumbled into a chair, surprised when she closed the door behind us, leaving just the two of us in the small, finely furnished room.

"A meeting? A business deal, perhaps? Wouldn't it have been better if we did this another time, then?"

Fuyumi let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like an incredulous snort. She seated herself across from me – an action that reminded me distinctly of her brother. Ootoris liked to go face-to-face. I shouldn't have been so surprised at the family resemblance.

"Business? That lot? Highly unlikely. Personally, I think they just have some secret affairs to discuss. Plans to hatch. Lives to meddle with," she smiled distantly, as if recalling some fond memory.

"What kind of secret affairs?" I dared to venture. What on earth could a group of young men possibly need to discuss in secret?

Fuyumi gave me a look which could have rivalled even Haruhi's blank stare. "You have one guess, moron."

I sat straighter, alert now. I must have resembled a meerkat. "You can't be serious."

"When am I ever not serious?"

I could think of a great many times. Not that I would ever tell her that. I happen to value my life, thank you.

"Besides," she gave me a cheeky grin. I was surprised she still held onto the Ootori beauty even so. Perhaps it was only Kyouya who lost all sense of physical beauty in his grin. The irony made me smile. "You and I should play a game."

I was immediately doubtful. I had the strangest feeling my dignity was going to be brought into question any moment now. "What kind of game?" I feared the answer. A cheeky Ootori was a dangerous Ootori. I learnt this fact years ago; the hard way, too.

"Espionage," she announced happily, flinging her arms out in great gusto, almost causing a nearby vase to topple down.

"Oh no," I blanched.

Goodbye dignity.

**-x-x-x-**

Standing outside the old oak door to Kyouya's study, I watched as Fuyumi crouched down and lent against the wood, a cup to her ear, deep concentration settled on her features. I couldn't believe I had let myself be roped into this.

"That cup trick doesn't even work," I hissed at her, annoyed and embarrassed beyond belief. I kept glancing over my shoulder, unable to help myself.

She only looked up at me long enough to give me a lazy smirk.

"I suppose, then, you don't want to hear what they're saying about you."

Frowning, I wondered if she was bluffing.

_Curiosity killed the cat_, I chanted in my head. It became my mantra. _Curiosity killed the cat_. _Curiosity killed the cat_.

I frowned harder, realising I had no idea what that expression actually meant. Furthermore, I hated cats.

I shook my head at her vehemently, hoping somehow she'd catch the action despite her closed eyes.

She whispered to me, eyes still clamped tight. "Don't shake your head at _me_. You're standing here on your own accord, too, you know. If you're bothered by this, go somewhere else. _I_, however, want all the juicy goss' my brother has to offer."

Good Lord. Was she psychic?

"You're being a horrible sister. And who says 'juicy goss,'' anyway?" I fumed silently, crossing my arms against my chest. Instinctively, I threw another wayward glance over my shoulder. I was growing incessantly paranoid.

"Shh," she hushed me suddenly, bringing her free hand up to raise one finger, as if she were a mother shushing a toddler while on the phone. "We're getting to the juicy stuff."

I might have muttered something poor about a death threat, most likely directed at her. Fuyumi always managed to bring out the worst in me.

She was frozen for some minutes while I itched to make a bolt for it. Eventually, she moved.

"Mhm," she nodded, removing her ear from the cup, and the cup from the door. She stood fluidly, latching onto my arm and dragging me back through the halls to our original sitting room. She pushed me down onto the chair with little thought, while she remained standing to pace the length of the small room.

"What on earth?" I questioned, more to myself than the strange woman, rubbing my arm protectively.

"It's just as I thought," she supplied gleefully, hands encompassing great hunks of air to demonstrate just how correct she had been. I waited patiently for a rational explanation, doubting a little if I would ever receive one. Fuyumi just continued to pace.

Apparently, she needed encouragement.

I sighed, giving in. "What is?" I finally asked after a short pause.

She beamed down at me, happy, no doubt, to see my cooperation in her little day-time drama. "He wants six children. Four boys and two girls. Preferably the boys must be all named Kyouya junior. In regards to the two girls, he's willing to be a little more lenient. I wish you every happiness, sister."

I stared. Opened my mouth. Closed my mouth. Spluttered and blushed profusely. Seconds ticked by. Fuyumi continued to grin serenely down at me, no doubt pleased with the result of her little speech.

Eventually, I managed to splutter a shamelessly neutral, "what?"

"Promise me you'll teach them to call me Aunt Fuyu," she ordered, clasping my hands in hers.

I coughed incoherently, before managing to regain at least some composure. I narrowed my eyes at her dangerously, regaining myself finally. I couldn't believe she had me for a second time, in little under half an hour, no less. Fuyumi Ootori was a dangerous woman.

"Fuyumi," I hissed.

"Yes?" she smiled.

"Lie to me again like that, and I'll tell everyone in our immediate acquaintance what you did with Mr. Takumini's son last year in the lake."

Her eyes grew as round as dinner plates. It was her turn to splutter.

"You wouldn't." She barely sounded half-sure.

I smiled as I heard several voices growing louder down the hall. Well. They're finished, are they? Footfalls were heard coming in our direction.

"But I would. Here comes your brother now," I made a show of pointing to the closed door, where a slight knock came in perfect timing. I suppressed a triumphant grin. If I ever lived through Fuyumi's wrath, I would have to thank Kyouya for his incredible knack for timing.

Fuyumi paled, coloured, then paled once more. Eventually she whispered, "okay. Fine. So perhaps they weren't the exact words he said. Sue me."

I gave her a blissful smile as Kyouya pushed open the door, letting himself and four other figures into the small room.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

**-x-x-x-**

It was amazing how the house seemed different. How much lighter the air felt. How much brighter the patterns on the furniture seemed to be. How deeply I could breathe.

I had to wonder when the sun had rose and shone through the Ootori household, leaking streams of liquid gold into even the darkest, deadest places of the house. And what one earth could have induced such a phenomenal change of atmosphere. Surely, it had to have been the work of gods.

But then, watching them, I realised it must have been them.

The way he brightened to the familiarity of long-lasting friendship. The way he seemed free again.

When Kyouya first introduced me to them, and them to I, they looked down on me with recognition, and I at them with disbelief, and embarrassingly enough, a tiny bit of wonder.

I didn't miss that Kyouya very subtly twitched upon my reaction.

So this was the Host Club, with the exclusion of a pair of twins, to which Kyouya explained were abroad studying, tearing up Paris in a way only they could, and to which Tamaki added that their absence was probably for the best. His grip on Haruhi's waist tightened fractionally as he said this.

I wondered if things had always been as rosy as they seemed now between the friends.

At any rate, their names were listed off quicker than I could remember, to which point I was glad none of the friends looked alike. Each was superbly different, as if they had been hand-picked for their difference in looks likewise in personality. There was the tall one, the short, excitable one, the twins (who were present, if not in person, then surely spirit – I was sure several times someone had been lightly touching my hair or grazing my hand playfully), Tamaki, Haruhi, an of course, Kyouya.

"The Shadow King," Tamaki presented Kyouya to me proudly, hands outstretched for a theatrical effect.

I blinked. "The what?"

Tamaki only smiled at me secretively. "It's a tale for a dark and stormy night," he enlightened helpfully. I rolled my eyes.

The short one, who after several embarrassing blunders on my part over his name ('Mitsunny?' 'Mitskontee?' 'Missini?') informed me jovially to just call him 'Hunny.' He blushed slightly upon saying this strange nickname.

"Hunny was what he was widely known by in high school," Kyouya told me, finally joining my side rather than watching from afar as the littlest one skipped off in search of something sweet. I wondered for how long he had been eavesdropping in on my conversations. "Fitting no doubt for his sweet tooth and childish disposition," Kyouya sighed then, looking onto the smaller man with a mix of admiration and disappointment. "But now, he's a man just like the rest of us."

I followed his gaze to Hunny, who was discussing at great length the cake that would be served at the upcoming wedding with an honoured Tamaki and disinterested Haruhi. He stood straight, hands behind his back in a leisurely manner, his back straining to level straighter, pushing harder and harder against gravity. As if he was trying to grow taller. Kyouya sighed.

"As you can see, what was once our virtues, with age, have become our vices."

Looking up at him, I found him frowning down at his hands with a seriousness that was all too familiar to me.

"And what's become your vice?" I questioned, genuinely interested.

Kyouya looked up from his hands, perhaps mildly surprised at the question. He seemed to chew it over for a while.

"My aloofness," he finally decided with a barely concealed sigh. He turned to give me a shaky smile. "Of course, I have many more, but my pride has been the main thorn in my side. In school, it made me appear collected, desirable. Now, it renders me incapable of expressing what my heart begs me to say, to do, to feel. My pride, my incapability of showing emotion has given me great pain."

I considered this, content to have him stand next to me in nothing more than companionable silence. "To be honest, I had always believed you were perfectly frank with your feelings, at least to me," I grimaced slightly, recalling a myriad of occasions when cutting words flew from his mouth. I tried to push it past me. "I never considered that this might not be the case."

He shook his head sadly, determinedly avoiding my eye. "I have never been entirely open with you."

My heart sunk a little at this.

"And for that, I apologise."

I smiled a little, still not quite used to hearing a sincere apology from the man I once so despised. We stood for a few moments in silence, lost in our own thoughts. I watched Hunny wave at me happily from across the room, smiling toothily. I returned the favour.

"You know," I said hesitantly, a thought taking hold that refused to be shaken off. "At least you have an advantage Hunny never will."

His glasses caught the morning light. "How do you mean?"

"No matter how hard he'll try, he'll always be like he is now. There's no changing in him, unless it's his thinking. You, on the other hand, have a power he would kill for. You can control your vice. You can overthrow it. Really, it's all up to you and your willpower."

He shook his head stubbornly. "It's not a small personality defect," he deflected, looking me in the eye. "It's who I am. I was born to be as I am."

I frowned. I felt let down by him, so I grumbled, "if that's truly the way you feel, then quit complaining."

A small laugh echoed, and to my surprise, I found the source to be him.

"Right," he smirked. "Will do."

It was an odd reaction, the kind that threw me overboard. I doubted I would ever know what he was thinking. Another thought occurred to me then.

"Kyouya?"

"Hm," was his committed reply.

"Does this mean you're going to be honest with me now?"

A pause. I feared I had assumed too much, stepped too far. What right did I possibly claim to his honesty? I opened my mouth to take the question back, but he bet me to the punch.

"To the best of my ability," he emphasised slowly. "However, there's a time and a place for everything."

I nodded, unable to look him in the eye. I should have been satisfied, but a niggling feeling in my fingers told me I had just skated over thin ice. I may have made it over unharmed this time around, but I doubted I would be so fortunate the next.

He strode off then, Tamaki as his aim.

Sighing, I turned around slowly with the intention of getting some fresh air when I came face-to-face with the tall, quiet one. I blinked unbelievingly; thankful to the heavens I didn't voice the small yelp that had threatened my throat and scraps of remaining dignity.

Good God, had he been there the entire time?

"Er," I started, eloquent to a tee. "You are-"

"Takashi Morinozuka," he supplied, and I was eternally grateful. He had unconsciously saved me from another attempt at a name, no doubt butchering it beyond recognition.

"As I thought," I lied smoothly. Well, about as smoothly as I could lie. Which probably wasn't that smooth. I fought down a grimace.

Takashi, or 'Mori' as I suddenly recalled Kyouya whispering to me earlier, smirked ever so lightly.

Damn it.

At this rate, I would be lucky to get out of this place alive.

Apparently having nothing further to say, yet possessing no intention of leaving, Mori watched me, as if waiting for something that was painfully obvious.

Amazingly, I managed to take the hint.

"It's a little surreal meeting you all. I've heard bits and pieces, but to finally meet you all is something else entirely," I floundered for conversation. It wasn't until after the words left my mouth that I realised they could be interpreted the wrong way. I hoped he wasn't easily insulted. Judging by his size and physique, I wouldn't be let off easily if he were.

He shrugged and gave a small smile, and just as I thought this was all the response I was going to receive, he spoke in a low, leisurely voice.

"We're happy to meet you, too," he smiled politely, and with the shy smile, all appearance of hostility seemed to vanish. "Finally," he tacked the word on the end of his speech, with, if I'm not mistaken, a very small amount of humour.

"Finally?" I questioned. I could feel my forehead rippling.

"Kyouya's surprisingly talkative," was his explanation. Evidently, he must have thought it a very informative one, as he said nothing else. I could argue that. I only stared, urging him to continue.

He didn't recognise the hint. Or, horror of horrors, he mischievously ignored it.

I sighed, perhaps a little too impatiently. "What has he said about me?" I questioned, suspicious. One eyebrow reached to grasp my hairline without my permission.

Mori smiled minutely, and I realised he was enjoying this.

The trouble with the Host Club, I found, was they enjoyed a good joke just as much as the next person.

"Oh," he shrugged, his voice a monotone beyond even Haruhi's capabilities. "This and that. It's odd, though."

"What is?" This conversation? Would I even be able to guess with this bizarre, tall man?

His smile grew till it was the most visible I had ever seen it. There was a knowing in his eye. A lighter lilt to his voice. "He always said your eyes were a brighter green."

And with that, he ambled off without another word.

**-x-x-x-**

**So. Here it is, Part 1 of the Walter/Host Club meeting. Part 2 to follow in a week or so.**

**Review, and you make me the happiest kid in the world. And if I may be so bold, can I get opinions on my depiction of the Host Club members? Criticism/Suggestions/Observations would be greatly appreciated. I'm a little unsure about them…**

**Till next time,**

**x Schnook **


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